Gods & Monsters(11)

He smiles and everyone smiles back.

I’m usually one of the smilers. But tonight my lips feel too heavy to curve. I’m not sure I like this lesson anymore. I’ve heard it countless times. Children of God obey their parents.

I obey my parents. I follow the rules.

But every night, I grip the bars on my window and look at the house with the leafless tree and falling-apart porch. Every night I think about the boy who lives there. The boy who isn’t even my friend. Sometimes I feel so bad that I want to cry, which is stupid; I don’t even know him.

Abel Adams is not my friend, and he never will be.

If I needed a reminder of that, I got it the day after I had that conversation with him on the bus. My mom and her friend Mrs. Weatherby ganged up on him while he was getting out of the store, where I get all my supplies for school. My mom was frowning, even more so than usual, her dark-haired bun making her look severe. Not to mention, Abel was frowning too.

God, I hated standing by our car and watching it happen.

Someone on the bus told their parents and their parents told my mom about the fact that I talked to him. She was furious. Even letting her ride her anger wasn’t effective. She pinched and shook and pulled my hair. She yelled over and over that I was not to associate with him. The bruises that I got that night were some of the worst.

I was pretty sure she was saying something nasty to Abel. I hated, loathed that. He didn’t even do anything; it wasn’t even his fault. I was the one who sat with him. Me. He never even invited me. It was so unfair. When he left and passed me by, I begged and begged in my mind for him to look at me so I could apologize but he never did, though I could see the hard lines of anger on his face.

I haven’t seen him since. Not around school or in town or even at church. My mom’s forbidden me to ride the bus. She’s the one who takes me to and from school every day, before she goes to do important church things.

When Bible Study’s over, Sky and I walk out of the church. She knows something is going on with me. I told her it’s Mom.

“One of these days, I’m gonna put your mom in her place, I swear,” she grumbles. I love her for caring about me so much.

I ride back with my mom. At home, she declares I’m being too restless and fidgety so she lets me go to the treehouse after dinner. Thank you, God. I haven’t been to the treehouse in days. Mom’s kept me too busy at the house or at the church with the upcoming neighborhood cookout.

“But be back in an hour. Or no more treehouse for the next two weeks.”

I promise and dash out of the house into the fresh air. As I run down the dirt path, I pray to God that I see him. Maybe he’ll be in the woods like he was that one time. I promise I’ll run toward him rather than away from him.

Maybe if you stay a little longer when I’m around instead of running away, we can get to know each other.

At the ladder of the treehouse, I look around, but there’s no sign of him. It’s all silent and quiet, just the way it usually is. Disappointment is so thick and heavy that it droops my shoulders.

I climb up and come to the landing and as I’m hauling myself up, I see a dark shape propped against the wall. My shriek is out of my mouth by the time I realize I know who it is.

It’s Abel.

He’s here. Inside my sunny yellow treehouse.

“Jesus fuck,” Abel curses and whips his white earphones out at my scream. “You scared me.”

I stare at him from where I’m crouched at the entrance. He’s here. Here. How’s he here? He looks huge inside my favorite place in the world. A giant. His legs are stretched long and he almost touches the opposite wall with his dirty white sneakers.

“Pixie?” He frowns at me with a curious smile. “You gonna get in?”

My lips part as I lose my breath at the mention of his nickname for me. A burst of energy makes me hop inside and throw myself at him, hugging him tightly. I bury my nose in the hollow of his throat, smelling apples. God, I’ve never felt so excited about smelling apples. And gosh, his t-shirt. Even though it’s black, it’s the softest thing I’ve ever touched.

“You aren’t mad that I snuck into your treehouse?” he asks, with a smile in his voice.

I don’t know why but I freeze at his words. It could be because suddenly I become aware of his arm around me.

Of course, dummy.

This is a hug. Of course, his arms would be around me. Only I’m kinda shocked at myself for hugging a guy, hugging him. It was purely instinct. Something that I didn’t think through.

Oh my God.

I’m hugging Abel Adams. This can’t happen, like, at all.

I jump out of his embrace, horrified. Abel’s looking at me with a frown as I slide back and prop my spine against the opposite wall. But then his frown clears, and he knows why I did that.

We watch each other for a few silent seconds. I have so many things to tell him, apologize for my mom’s behavior and ask him why he wasn’t at church or why haven’t I seen him in so many days. But I keep mum. My words aren’t cooperating in this moment.

“I know this is against your rules,” he whispers, at last. “But I couldn’t…”

“Couldn’t what?” I ask, matching his whisper.

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I notice the veins in his neck are thick and green, and they are so tight. In contrast to that, his brown eyes are all liquid. “I couldn’t not see you.”